


Acclimatization

by OneOfThoseThings



Series: Interspecies Compatibility [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Explicit Consent, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hard to call this entirely platonic, Humor, Interspecies Awkwardness, Post-Episode: s04e08-09 Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, Telepathic Sex (Sort Of), Telepathy, a distinct lack of shame, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings
Summary: Working with an admittedly limited knowledge of Gallifreyan social constructs, Donna makes an inappropriate offer. The Doctor tries to ignore it. That tactic does not entirely work on Donna.(Part of the Interspecies Compatibility series, but can easily be read on its own.)
Relationships: Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble
Series: Interspecies Compatibility [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637608
Comments: 16
Kudos: 162





	Acclimatization

**Author's Note:**

> Acclimatization (ala Wikipedia): the process in which an individual organism adjusts to a change in its environment

After the Library, the Doctor tried very, very hard not to think about River Song and her impossible knowledge of him. He tried even harder not to think about the exact angle of her lifeless fingers, curled over cold marble. 

Donna wasn’t helping. Whatever she was doing, it was absolutely the opposite of helping.

“That River woman was human, wasn’t she?” She followed him into the galley, ignoring his somewhat noisy inventory of the cabinets. “Can you tell that sort of thing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answered curtly. 

It didn’t phase her. “Do you think she was a Time Lord? Time Lady? Whatever you call them.”

“No,” he said, not disguising the warning in his voice. 

Donna huffed, apparently finding his feelings on the near total extinction of his species to be an inconvenient diversion in the way of her great quest for information. “But how do you know? You don’t even know if she was human!”

“I’d know if she were Time Lord.”

“But how can you be so sure―“

“I’d know!” he snapped. “We can feel each other. Could feel each other. But they’re gone. They’re all gone. There’s no one else.” 

“But that’s great!” 

He whipped around, gawking, and she quickly revised, “Not great about the whole last-of-your-kind thing, obviously. But if you _are_ the last of your kind then that means you still managed to bond with whatever River is! Which means you _can_ bond with non-Time Lords!” 

She beamed, positively thrilled by this revelation. “You don’t have to be on your own!” 

The Doctor stared at her, incredulous. “I just watched her die. Four hours, eighteen minutes and 52 seconds ago, I watched the life bleed out of her. And all you’ve gotten out of that is that this’d be a great time to― what― sign me up for a dating service?” 

He expected her to back down, maybe get a little weepy over it. 

He did not expect her to nod, completely unfazed. “Exactly! Do they have dating services for mind sex? Is that a thing?”

“TARDIS,” she called out, shouting at his sentient time machine like it was a knockoff Siri. “Are there dating services for telepathic connections?” 

The TARDIS hummed, contemplatively. 

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “Do you think we’d need a camera?”

In response, the TARDIS filled a nearby drawer with lightbulbs. 

“Both of you knock it off!” he snapped. “I’m going to my room!”

* * *

When the Doctor reemerged, he found her poking around the central console, trying to explain the concept of dating to his time machine. The TARDIS warbled and tried to accommodate, flashing images of pillows on beaches mingled with anatomically correct hearts covered in chalk to a saxophone rendition of “ _Hakuna Matata_ ” through the telepathic interface. 

“Getting warmer,” Donna said, speculatively. 

“Stop confusing my ship!” he said, herding her away from the central column. “We’ll end up trapped between pocket dimensions at this rate!” 

Donna swatted him away. “She wants to help! Just give me a minute― I think I’ve almost gotten her to understand the concept of kissing.”

The TARDIS flashed up an image of a large mouth bass swallowing a bluegill headfirst, overlaid with an octopus cramming itself into a vase. 

“Hm,” Donna said. “Not quite…” 

“Stop that!” the Doctor snapped. “You’re going to make her sick!”

“Oh, for the last time my thoughts are not _that_ confusing!” Donna huffed. “But fine. You’re back so you can pick a destination. Do you have a favorite species of telepaths? Does gender matter? Are some minds better looking than others? Can you tell that sort of thing without y’know getting right in there?” She added a strange twisting gesture with her fist at the end. 

As a member of a very cerebral species, the Doctor took in information automatically, whether he wanted to or not. Usually his mental facilities just squirreled new information away in various pockets as easily as his lungs took oxygen out of the air. Listening to Donna’s stream-of-consciousness, however, was more like trying to breathe in a wind tunnel at high altitude, while someone intermittently puffed carbon dioxide into his face with a malfunctioning CPAP. 

He genuinely thought he might pass out. 

“What? What?? What are you― This is a highly-sentient time and space machine! Not a singles cruise!” 

“A singles cruise!” Donna crowed. “Maybe that’ll translate!” She put her hand on the central console, scrunching up her face. The TARDIS flickered through images of the Titanic, 1950’s carnivals, and a rotary phone encased in red gelatin. A panel clicked open, producing a Wall-E DVD. 

“I think you’re getting closer,” Donna mused. 

“Stop it! You’re getting your weird human brain clutter all over her!” the Doctor tried to shoo her away.

“Oi!” Donna crowed. “Stop talking about my head like it’s some hoarder’s garage! It works just fine!” 

The TARDIS warbled doubtfully, trying to nudge her toward the medbay for a prophylactic MRI scan. 

“No, I don’t want tea right now, thanks,” Donna said. 

“If I pick a destination with telekinetic beings will you please stop nauseating my ship?” the Doctor suggested. 

“Obviously,” Donna said. “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” 

The Doctor punched in coordinates.

* * *

Seven failed attempts to “rock his pinstripes” later, the Doctor assumed the matter was closed. Human obsessions were relatively easy to wait out when one had near infinite time on one’s hands. 

After two days without mention of breeding practices, he happily resumed tinkering with the TARDIS while his companion wandered around poking things and asking questions that she didn’t bother listening to the answers to. 

“What if you just try it with me?” Donna suggested.

The Doctor looked at the helmic regulator components in his hands and tried to work out which part, exactly, she thought was compatible with her in any way. “I’m not sure what you think this does, but I’m confident you’re mistaking it for something else.” 

“What? No, not that bicycle pump. Why do you have a bicycle pump anyway? I’ve never seen a bicycle in here― No, never mind! Not that! The brain thing!” She made a strange gesture with her hand like she was trying to mime a squid being attacked by a butterfly. 

“The what?” 

Donna huffed. “The mild meld thing! The thing we’ve been talking about for weeks! The Thing!” She made the squid gesture again, more emphatically. 

“Oh, that,” the Doctor waved her off. “No, surprisingly, my answer hasn’t changed from the last 142 times you’ve asked. Would you like me to make you a recording? Could save time.” 

Donna shoved in next to him on the jumpseat. “Why can’t we try it? Just see how it goes.” 

He tapped a few buttons on the access panel and a holographic projection popped up. “This is Protocol 402,” his hologram said. “I’m not having ‘mind sex’ with you, Donna Noble. Stop asking.”

“No, clearly you’re far too busy. Where would you even find the time?” Donna grumbled. She kicked the access panel closed, and the hologram flickered out. “You’re the one who said it wasn’t anything like sex. And even if it was, what’s the harm? I’m an adult, you’re whatever you are― it’s not a big deal. Clearly you need a practice run. You’re flopping around out there like a dead fish. The last six species we interacted with all tried to kill you before we even hit the thirty-minute mark! At this rate, we’re going to run out of telekinetic species!” 

The Doctor sighed. “1) Those were all just minor misunderstandings, B)― no wait― 2) The Universe isn’t some giant clearance sale at Boots. You can’t ‘run out’ of species. And 4)― no― 3) You really need to stop obsessing over this. I’m not like you. I can’t just pick a partner and ‘just see how it goes.’” 

Donna scoffed, “Nice try! But you’re not going to distract me trying to call me a mind floozy. I’m not suggesting a fumble in an alley with whoever happens to be around. I’m your best mate! Wait― I _am_ your best mate, right? You’re _my_ best mate!” 

He sighed, “Of course you’re my best mate. Why do you think I keep you around? It’s not for your sterling social graces and respectable boundaries.”

“Oi!” She smacked his shoulder. “That’s no way to talk about your best mate! Did your loom run out of ‘nice things to say’ and just throw in a bunch of facts about lighthouses instead?” She waved her hands around like she was trying to erase some invisible blackboard. “Never mind all that. I’m offering _because_ this matters and you’re my best mate and I worry about you. You need to bond with people! You should at least know how to do it!” 

He sputtered. “I know _how!_ ” 

“It sure doesn’t look or sound or seem like it!”

He decided to try a different approach. “How familiar are you with the concept of consent?” 

Immediately, Donna’s eager expression flipped to horrified. “I’m not trying to force myself onto you! I’m offering to help!” She seemed genuinely upset by even the suggestion. 

“No, no― Not you! That’s not what I mean. You’re offering something you don’t understand. You can’t consent to something without knowing what it is you’re consenting to!” 

Donna frowned. “What, does it hurt?” 

He threw his hands up. “You’ve only just now thought to ask that?!” 

Donna’s enthusiasm flagged, but she kept going. “Well, what kind of hurt are we talking? Like a pinch or like a burn?” 

“What? Why would it hurt? Of course it doesn’t hurt. What would be the point of it hurting?”

“Well, _I_ don’t know!! _You’re_ the one who brought it up!! What’s your flipping problem?!?” 

“My problem is that you don’t know what you’re asking!” 

“So explain it!” 

“I _can’t_!” 

“Why _not_?!”

“Because I don’t know how it would affect you!”

“Well _try_ to _guess_!!!”

“How would I _guess_ something like that!?” 

Donna threw up her hands. “Listen, is it going to hurt or kill or maim me?” 

“What? No!”

“Would I have to deal with a bunch of alien spawn trying to tear their way out of my abdomen?” 

“What?! No!!!! How would that even― You understand it’s a purely mental connection, right?!”

Donna was already skipping ahead to the next part of whatever weird list she was working from. “Would I forget all my memories before age 5? Or lose the ability to see yellow? Or be constantly haunted by a vague tinny ringing in my ears that slowly drives me mad?”

“No― Have you been watching those movies from the 48th century again? I _told_ you those got banned for a reason!”

“I like the colors!” 

“The colors are the things that were banned!”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” she waved that off. “And it sounds like this is too! You worry too much! And about the weirdest things! Worry more about how many times you’ve been knocked unconscious! It can’t be good for you!” 

“ _What_ are you _talking_ about?!”

“I’m saying it’s fine! I’m fine doing it even not knowing what it is! Try not to kill me. Actually, try harder than usual not to kill me. Now, here― c’mon!” She shoved in next to him, gesturing to her own head as casually as if she were offering to let him braid her hair.

“What!? Right here?!” He wasn't quite sure when he'd switched from talking her out of it to discussing practicalities, but here they were. 

She rolled her eyes. “What, do you want want to do it on a bed of roses?”

“For the last time, it’s nothing like human sex!” 

“So what, is there a whole ceremony? Should we put on fancy robes and have the TARDIS play bagpipes?” 

“What kind of ceremony are you even describing?!” 

“How should I know?!? You won’t tell me anything! Honestly, you’re such hard work! Just―“ She gestured to her head again, leaning forward. 

The Doctor jerked back, a bit scandalized. “Donna!” He realized his hand was pressed to his chest and jerked it back down. 

Donna huffed, “Stop acting like I’m trying to feel you up behind the bleachers!” She pulled one knee up onto the jumpseat so she could face him. “You’re not going to get all weird on me afterwards are you?”

“Why? Whats in there?” He flicked a nervous glance at the crown of her head.

Donna shrugged. “Standard stuff, I assume. Plus like four bats. Nine bats, max.” 

He barked out a laugh. “That feels like a low estimate, but all right.” He mirrored her position so that they could sit facing each other. 

“Wait―“ Donna leaned back suddenly. “You’ve got me all worried about consent now. Are you okay doing this? I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth around the shame of admitting it. 

Donna grinned, “All right, all right, don’t get all emotional; you’re just embarrassing yourself.” She leaned forward, shutting her eyes. “Here we go.” 

He took a moment to just stare at her, wondering at the completely unreserved show of trust. 

The Doctor placed two fingers on her temples and fell in.

~*~

Time Lord minds were vast and ancient, hallowed halls unfolding into infinite depths of limitless space. Concepts streamed through like light in a prism, refracting and reflecting in intricate patterns. 

Donna’s mind was nothing like that. It was like a lightning storm in the shape of a Gordian knot. Thoughts struck randomly, sparking electrified shrapnel. Concepts twisted with memories, tangling and snapping. There was no up or down, no concept of orientation. The edges were illusions, mirrors on mirrors, stretching deeper and wider than anything he’d every encountered. 

He sank into the sensation, like sinking beneath waves, only to find new skies on the other side of the surface.

~*~

When he came back to himself he was panting, his hands tangled in the hair at Donna’s temples. 

Donna blinked at him. “Are you all right?”

He sucked in enough air to gasp, “Fine.” 

She smiled and shut her eyes again. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

He pulled his hands away, still reeling a bit. “What?” 

Donna looked confused. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” He was just having a bit of trouble catching his breath was all. 

“So why aren’t you―“ She looked him up and down, taking in his erratic breathing and dazed expression. “Oh, was that it?” 

The Doctor gaped at her. “Was that― What do you mean _was that it_? Did you not― Did you not feel that??” 

Donna frowned thoughtfully. “Didn’t feel like much of anything… Maybe a bit like when you think you’re going to sneeze, but then you just don’t.” She shrugged, clearly not concerned. “What did it feel like for you?” 

The Doctor felt like he’d been knocked off his metaphysical feet into a whirlpool. But he obviously couldn’t tell Donna that. “Good,” he said. “It felt good.” 

She smiled. “That’s great! I don’t know why you fought it for so long. The way you went on about it I thought we’d be at it for hours.”

He quickly re-engaged his sense of time, not sure when it had cut off. Three minutes fifteen seconds had passed.

No, that couldn’t be right. 

The TARDIS hummed in confirmation. Three minutes fifteen seconds. 

“I _would_ like popcorn,” Donna said to the ceiling, before turning back to the Doctor. “How did she know I was thinking about popcorn?” 

She hopped up, ruffled his hair, and headed to the galley. 


End file.
